


it's no panacea

by VesperNexus



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Law School AU, M/M, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperNexus/pseuds/VesperNexus
Summary: Alex’s words stumble on his tongue, the crease between his eyebrows pushing his eyes into an accusatory glare, as if he’s just noticed Burr’s existence.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 133





	it's no panacea

**Author's Note:**

> so i was jamming to aaron burr, sir and reading through the alrc's latest inquiry into the inefficient travesty that is the australian family law system when this was born 
> 
> I know absolutely nothing about the US system, all my knowledge is based on Australian/ Commonwealth statutes, so please forgive (and feel free to correct) any discrepancies or mistakes.
> 
> it's just fluffy

_One_

Burr enrols in _Family Law_ because it’s the only unit that slides neatly between his Civil Procedure and Evidence lectures on Wednesday, and the tutorials are only an hour. For once he’s blessedly thankful for the university’s incessant and increasingly frugal approach to electives. He’d be more worried if he weren’t graduating in a year.

He takes a long sip of his coffee, shouldering through the door at 11:45 exactly. A few disinterested students have filled the back rows, aimless chatter spilling between them. _Easy HD if you turn in the final,_ Madison’s voice lingers at the back of his head as Burr readies himself for sixty minutes of an introductory social justice cesspool. The unit had the markings of everything he needed right now - from the thin textbook to the preeningly non-existent failure rate.

Still, Burr glances pleadingly at the clock ticking away languidly until the hand strikes midday.

“Alright, good afternoon everyone.” Professor Jefferson looks about as excited as the rest of them. “Welcome to _LAWS5208-_ ”

The door’s pushed opened a sliver before a slim shadow slips through. The boy’s hair is bunned lazily at the nape of his neck, face twisted in apology.

“Sorry Professor Jefferson-”

“Hamilton.” Jefferson’s southern drawl lilts in unmasked annoyance, “Do you make it a habit to be late to all your classes, or just mine?”

The boy – Hamilton – coughs out an awkward but most definitely _unchastised_ laugh, as if his tardiness – it’s 12:05 – is a joke. “Sorry sir,” he does not sound sorry at all, and Jefferson almost rolls his eyes.

Hamilton slides into the seat in front of Burr, left of centre. As Jefferson continues with the spiel, taking the roll, Burr entertains himself counting the steps of Hamilton’s spine as every bone takes a moment to protrude through his shirt. His long sleeve is bunched about his elbows as he pulls his laptop open with ink stained fingers. _Ink stained fingers_? The guy was a goddamn cartoon, dark hair spilling from its knot, an assortment of choice badges clipped to his messenger bag, checkered socks peaking from his skinny jeans. Burr has a feeling he’s the only person who enrolled in the unit because he actually _wants_ to be here.

The class starts off pretty preliminary – everything Burr’s already covered in the first two chapters of the required textbook. Sprinkled beside introductory references to the primary statutes and different jurisdictions were vague and harrowing statistics about delay and inefficiency that _almost_ make the hour interesting.

But it’s Hamilton that keeps him from counting the minutes, the way he can dig up a query hand in hand with every answer he gives. He bounces from criticising ambiguous wording in the statute to a longwinded spiel about statutory interpretation and how the courts have gotten wrong _in this case and this case and –_

At one point Jefferson positively bristles, “How ‘bout _you_ teach the class Hamilton?”

Something tells Burr that Hamilton would have gladly slipped from his desk but the indigent look on Jefferson’s face seems to keep him grounded. Watching Hamilton’s face do all sorts of funny twists as he internally debates whether to hold his tongue well - it’s not annoying. It should be, but Burr’s struggling to hide his smile.

Finally, _finally_ Jefferson fitfully slides into his closing. “Now, we _will_ have a whole week on this, but as a snapshot, the number of unrepresented litigants has been steadily increasing since the last LRC study in 2017 with over thirty percent being unrepresented in parenting matters.”

“What about matters that haven’t gone to trial, Sir?”

Burr blinks, of _course_ Hamilton has a question to ask in the minute before dismissal. He’s had one for the past thirty. His spine is straight, shoulders pushed back so that Burr can only see the faint outline of his spine through the cotton.

There’s no way he doesn’t know the answer. It’s his carefully schooled expression that tells Burr he’s being petty.

Jefferson raises an eyebrow, “Done your reading, hmm Hamilton?”

Hamilton takes no note of the Professor’s verbal eyeroll, “Well, the LRC’s data only reflects matters that went to trial, which are only about forty percent of all parenting matters in the federal jurisdiction-”

“More, Hamilton.” Jefferson cuts in. “Only the really desperate ones make it to court, so you can imagine how many are knocked out by overwhelming costs of starting litigation early on.” There’s no room for a response. “Alright, see you all next week.”

Hamilton looks unsatisfied with the answer, from the tension bunching his shoulders and the incessant tapping of his foot, but Jefferson’s already dismissed the class and has slinked out the door faster than any professor has a right to. It’s almost impressive.

“About forty-five percent. Well,” Burr clears his throat, “forty-seven per cent in 2018.”

Burr says it without thought, letting the statistic linger between him as he steps around Hamilton’s desk. He’d skimmed through the reform commission’s website in the twenty minutes before class and stumbled on statistics too recent for the outdated textbook. Maybe it’s knowing that Hamilton might be the only other person who’s done the readings, maybe it’s the way his voice is almost aflame. He’s still seated, and when he looks up at Burr –

Dark intelligent eyes and a hollow face – lips part in a gentle _O_ before they twist into a little excited smile. The joke’s not lost between them. Something warm curls in Burr’s belly, satisfaction spilling in the crevices around his ribcage. It’s that ridiculous smile that seems so painfully genuine and undeserved that undoes him for a good second.

The peak of the moment drips between his fingers but its essence lingers as Hamilton extends a hand. His palm is warm, handshake steady and firm.

“Alexander Hamilton.”

Burr could have hardly known _then_.

*

Hamilton is brilliant.

He is a magnet, attracting every bit of Burr’s energy with the flail of his hands and stretch of his long fingers and crease around his mouth as he smiles and frowns and smiles again and –

Burr learns from him in twenty minutes for than he learned from Jefferson in an hour.

He stumbles into Evidence five minutes late with a new number saved on his phone under _Alex._

*

_Two_

“So, Aaron Burr _Sir_ ,” Alex speaks between mouthfuls of sushi, “how did a seven-point-oh GPA know it all end up in _5208_?”

“Like you can talk.” They’re sitting in the courtyard, plastic boxes open between them. The sun seems to bounce off of Alex’s skin, sinking into his tan. He should be nothing spectacular, nothing you’d see on the cover of _GQ._ But Burr has already come to terms with how oddly beautiful the other boy is. It’s in the sheer untamed rawness mirrored between his eyes and his words that comes alive in his impassioned phrasing and love for assonance – even if hunger has eaten away the fullness of his face. Burr wonders if it’s a fashionably thin thing but dismisses the thought swiftly. Hamilton seems like the type to forget to eat, not actively avoid it.

“Honestly,” he takes a bite of the avocado with an appreciative _mmm_ , “I just wanted something to fill up my Wednesday. My prac’s taken up all of Monday and Tuesday, so I didn’t have a lot of options. What about you?”

Alex shrugs. “There are fundamental deficiencies in the very foundation of a system designed to protect society’s most vulnerable participants and litigants. It’s overworked and too goddamn expensive and nobody knows what their rights are unless they’ve got some suit charging four hundred bucks an hour to tell them how to divide their property pool or how to make arrangements so they can see their kid once a fortnight.”

He says it so simply, almost thoughtlessly, as if _of course, I’m using this unit to do some good and learn about a system which is ironically inaccessible to –_

Alex is looking at him. It isn’t patronising, and he doesn’t call Burr out for his stupid answer even though the way his hands still make it seem like he wants to. It’s like he’s just happy Burr has decided to have lunch with him every day for the last three days, a mirror off of which he bounces ideas. Burr’s almost surprised it took them so long to approach this topic.

“Do you speak from experience?”

Burr doesn’t know why he asks. It’s stupid and none of his business and something in Alex’s eyes shutters and he swallows, pushing aside his sushi as if the question has sapped his appetite.

“Sorry,” _fuck_ , _idiot_. “Alex, that was-”

“No,” he looks away, and Burr’s almost afraid to catch his eye. They’ve only known each other three days. “My mum died a few years ago and I – um.” He laughs, but there’s nothing funny about it and Burr is kicking himself for brining it up. “My dad split when I was a baby. Let’s just say I know a little about what it’s like to be tossed about in the system.”

“I’m sorry.” Alex just shakes his head and Burr’s tongue feels like wax, words slipping over the tip, “If it helps my parents are dead too.”

_Oh my god._

A long moment stretches between them before Alex is laughing with his whole face, cheeks red, air slipping from his lungs too quickly, “Oh my god, that doesn’t help, I’m not laughing I’m-”

But then Burr is laughing too and it’s so inappropriate and the students a table over are giving them weird once overs and it’s all too much.

*

_Three_

It’s been three Wednesdays since he met Alex. Burr has not documented the shift from _Hamilton_ to _Alex_ but it was smooth and this feels right, so he lets it go. He lets it go, and blindly prays this is something Alex can _let. Go._

“While an initiative that propagates more open information sharing between jurisdictions is no fucking panacea for these goddamn litigious labyrinthine problems, it’s gonna-”

“Language, Hamilton.”

“Right Sir - it’s gonna do a whole fucking lot to promote pre-existing paternal relationships and family wellbeing by improving the courts’ responsiveness to family violence and-”

“Language-”

“Managing high risk families because it’ll allow us to navigate orders, child protection records, expert reports, not to mention sort out-”

“Isn’t there already a perfectly functioning national information sharing framework?”

Alex’s words stumble on his tongue, the crease between his eyebrows pushing his eyes into an accusatory glare, as if he’s just noticed Burr’s existence.

Its five minutes past and Burr wants to _leave_ the bloody classroom, but Alex is too damn busy arguing with Jefferson and –

“It’s hardly _perfectly functioning_ Burr.” His tone is sharp and disbelieving and _this_ is Alex’s art of debate. Finally.

He lashes out with blinding intelligence and wit and statistics that are no more than a few months old and Burr responds in like – offsetting a wild sparring session as Alex argues for new fundamental reform and Burr pins up the current framework on a stool higher than it deserves. Alex brings out in him opinions he would rather have hidden, opinions that would have otherwise slept dormant as he perched himself on the proverbial fence. But he can’t smother the desire to rile the other boy, to deconstruct his arguments and poke holes with a carefully sharpened pencil and it’s _thrilling._

“Come on, Hamilton, there hasn’t even been a comprehensive review of the act in the last decade despite the intense social changes in family structure-”

“That doesn’t matter Burr because the case management objective is the _same_ – reducing costs and delay so we can weed out the real issues in contention. If we wait for another _review_ all these changes will be nugatory because the social structure will have shifted again-”

“You really think more holistic information sharing will profoundly effect case management? The financial resources you’re suggesting be allocated will no doubt outweigh any benefits gained from reductions in delay. Come on-”

“The financial cost is unavoidable, and the sooner a system like this is implemented the more quickly these resources can be earned back. It would lessen the amount of interlocutory applications, and the judicial investigation would have a great focus on the facts as justice requires-”

Alex sets something inside him aflame, _alive,_ and Burr realises far too late just what it is.

*

_Four_

Alex’s friends are… well.

There’s some curiosity about the boy Alex has been spending so much time with as of late, it seems.

Introductions are short, one morning over coffee that vacillates between _dark roast_ and _burnt_. Burr’s sat close to Alex in the little cafeteria at the corner of the law building, knees and elbows pressed together beneath a blanket of strange and unexpected familiarity.

Hercules rests a heavy hand on his shoulder that is not _quite_ threatening, Lafayette smiles secretively into his hot chocolate, and John Laurens…

His eyes bounce from Alex to Burr and back again, as if he knows something they don’t. Something fond gleams as he peaks at them in a way he must think is sneaky.

Burr loosens his shoulders and laughs good naturedly at some ridiculous squabble between Lafayette and Hercules about the state of the stock market and even offers his two cents and _god, what’s happened to him?_

He’s almost shocked by the simmering desire to _please_ Alex’s friends.

Almost.

*

_Five_

“Dinner.”

“Hmm?” Alex blinks at him but continues to type at a hundred goddamn words a minute. The artificial lights give him a strange glow but do little for the purple smudges under his eyes. If there’s anyone who’s willing and able to do more hours of study than Burr, _of course_ it had to be Alex.

Burr leans back in his chair, stretching long enough to hear the distinct popping in his neck. Shifting in the chair, he keeps his gaze on the titles towering between them, fingering the spine of _Civil Procedure in the US: Cases and Commentary._ He traces the letters with deliberate – forced – slowness.

“We should do dinner sometime.” His throat is as dry as fucking Texas in July and _oh god, this was a bad idea._

“Aaron,” the other boy rolls the name on his tongue languidly, “We _always_ do dinner.”

_You got this. You are Aaron motherfucking Burr._

“I don’t mean sushi on campus. I…” but the words are fleeting, and his well thought out proposal is no where to be seen, and all he has is a mouth that’s too dry and a tongue that won’t sit properly and –

Alex’s fingers finally hesitate over the keys. He looks up at Burr and oh – he looks at him openly, with a kind of eager veracity Burr has only ever seen in his eyes and a dazzling smile stretches his face and he’s so beautiful Burr is breathless and –

“You’re asking me on a date.”

“Yeah.”

“Ok. Of course. Of course I’ll go out with you -”

And then it’s Alex whose words are leaving him in a flurry, consonants tripping over one another and his face is red and Burr just _knows._


End file.
